A Pain in the Neck
by 0positiv
Summary: Hal Yorke was the most annoying client Nick Cutler ever had, a right pain in the neck. Quite literally so, to Cutler's misfortune...


**Disclaimer: None of it mine, it all belongs to Lord Toby and the BBC, sadly :( But I'm stealing Cutler for a bit since they treated him so badly ;)**

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**A Pain in the Neck**

This man had to be the most annoying client Nick ever got assigned to. There he was, arrested and charged with the quite serious offense of illegal gambling, and instead of working with Cutler to build a defence the guy started preaching. It would have been quite funny, a guy looking the clichéd Mafioso talking to Nick about destiny and a job as the "Family Solicitor" if in Nick's office the files on all his other clients weren't piled five feet high on his desk. Now those pricks at the station had to add this madman to his caseload as well.

But he seemed to be at the very least quite a well connected madman. He appeared to be one of those men that could make the world around them tremble with just a sigh. Nick felt envious of so much power, so much influence, which did nothing to improve his mood. Here was a man who had achieved everything Cutler dreamed of, all the dark desires for fame and glory he kept hidden from everyone around him, a man who had the nonchalant air of someone who knew that they could get away with murder.

And hadn't this Mr. Yorke just admitted to premeditated murder, with a policeman in the room no less? For how else was one to interpret his _accidental_ slip up about the date of his lawyer's death? The audacity of this man was quite unbelievable and yet also very intriguing. Cutler cast another disbelieving look at his client. How could he have archived such a level of power at such a young age? He seemed hardly older then Nick himself, yet he carried himself with the stiff and formal air of a retired general. Sitting on that bench, hardly moving more then his lips and with skin that appeared pale as alabaster in the overhead lights Mr Yorke seemed more statue then man. A dizzying sense of unreality made Cutler feels slightly nauseous so that he quickly brought his eyes back to the paperwork constantly threatening to spill onto the floor.

What was this impossible man babbling on about now? Being a history maker? Well, Nick had thought about it, sure, and his parents were always quite adamant that he would make them proud, that he would go far. But right now Cutler could hardly see any future past the files of all the lowlifes he had to deal with everyday. Whores, thieves and drug addicts were hardly going to make him famous.

But Mr Yorke was right, despite it all Nick was sure that this was not the end, he would rise above all this, be important, he would just have to be patient and work hard.

Mr Yorke ordering the policeman to shut the door brought Nick back to reality like a bucket of cold water. Had his client really just ordered Roy around? One of the most brutal and stubborn policemen Nick knew? And Roy complied without a word. Cutler could only stare open-mouthed at the slowly closing door to cell number 2 too dumbstruck to even complain.

As he turned around to demand an explanation from his client he found himself face to face with a nightmare. Mr Yorke had soundlessly risen from his bench and approached the solicitor. Now they were so close that their noses nearly touched. Nick protectively pressed his files to his chest like a shield. Only now did he realize that Mr. Yorke's eyes were pitch black, not just the pupils but his whole eyes. And as he smiled slowly and menacingly Nick saw long and sharp canines that had surely not been there before much too close to his face for comfort.

His heart was beating in his throat and he was breaking out in cold sweat yet fear kept him rooted to the spot even though his only thought was _I need to get away_. When Mr. Yorke slowly lifted his hands to unfasten Nick's tie the man seemed in no hurry, a predator that knew the prey had nowhere left to run, a cat playing with a mouse.

Only when the creature before him violently pulled open his shirt at the neck did Nick start to scream. But no one would hear him, or more likely no one would care. They were all in this together. Nick had realized that the moment Roy closed the door. They had thrown him to the wolves.

The pain when the creature sunk it's fangs into Nick's throat was worse then anything he had ever experienced before. Finally he tried to fight for his life but the hands holding his arm and shoulder were strong as vices. All his struggling achieved was to make the files fall to the ground in a cloud of paper, the single sheets like dead butterflies slowly sailing to the floor.

As he started hitting every part of the monster he could reach Nick realized that he saw the world around him as far removed from himself as a film, everything seemed so sharp, the light seemed too bright, his own panicked breathing and his cries painfully loud. Time seemed to pass too slow one moment and too fast the next as the sounds the creature made as it drank his blood sickened Cutler.

He felt his own blood run down in warm rivulets over his arm, his back, his chest. He slowly started to feel lightheaded and after a while his arms were too heavy to keep on fighting. He felt like only the creatures iron grip was keeping him upright. His vision was slowly growing dim, slowly narrowing to a tiny pinprick of light. He hardly felt it as the creature lowered him to the ground and pressed its own bleeding wrist to his mouth, commanding him to drink. The cold blood sliding down his throat as he swallowed reflexively was the last thing he ever felt as a human. Then the darkness and finally death took him.

When he became aware of his surroundings again Nick found himself in an endless corridor. It looked like a run down hotel with threadbare carpet that might have been red once, and dark wooden doors with peeling varnish. Behind himself he found another door, made of slightly lighter wood. After a while he realized it was the door to his parents' house, an old boarding house where he spent his childhood carrying their guests' luggage. He tried the door knob but it wouldn't turn. Panic started creeping in again as he pulled and pushed and finally kicked at the door without result. He gave up in the end, leaning his forehead against the cool wood, tears streaming down his faces. He thought he heard voices thought the door, a child laughing, birds singing, the barking of a dog, but it was so faint he could as well be imagining it. It was all so confusing. Hadn't he just been in a cell, talking to a client? A very annoying client, a right pain in the neck? Without warning his memory returned in painful flashes and scary detail. Nick slowly sank to the floor, his hands over his ears, trying to make the images stop.

He didn't know how long he lay on the floor, staring at the stains in the red carpet, feeling like he was unable to move ever again. Slowly sound penetrated his stupor, wood knocking against wood, footsteps slowly drawing closer. He turned his head, trying to peer down the corridor without moving the rest of his body. When all he saw were his shoes and a mildew stained wall he slowly sat up. As soon he saw what was coming towards him through that corridor he was on his feet and pressed against the door in an instant, trying the door knob again even though he knew it wouldn't turn.

Men were coming up the corridor, or at least he thought they were men. They had no clear shape, their outlines slightly blurry, like they were in the background of a photograph. They were mostly just dark shadows that resembled men in that they had feet and arms and heads, but nothing distinguishing to tell them apart. They were still far away down that endless row of doors but they were slowly coming closer and as they passed each door they rapped a stick against it softly. In their other hands he could see coils of rope, slowly swinging with their steps but slightly out of sync like they were moved by a breeze Nick didn't feel.

He couldn't have said how long he watched their approach or how much ground they covered in that time. Time and space seemed not to be fixed in this place, doors shifted, growing further apart or closer together like the whole corridor was a breathing lung, or a beating heart. Finally after a terror filled eternity the door behind Nick swung open, only a crack. Without second thought he threw himself thought the door into the bright light behind it.

Cutler found himself lying on his back. As he opened his eyes he was nearly blinded by the bright lights on the ceiling. Groaning he squeezed his eyes shut again. When he opened them more careful the second time it was to find the smiling face of Mr. Yorke above him, chiding him playfully for taking so long to come back.


End file.
